LOVE BY THE BOOK Read online

Scratch that, I knew I was crazy.

  I realized I was still holding the stranger’s pocket watch. I hesitated and then slipped it into my pocket, telling myself I’d turn it in to someone when we arrived at the hospital.

  The sudden scream of the siren coming on and the jolt of the vehicle moving forward brought me back to the moment. Odd-looking hoses and medical instruments rattled around me. I wanted to ask the paramedics, laboring with urgent efficiency over their patient, how seriously he was hurt but was afraid to bother them.

  “Hey, can you hear me, buddy?” one paramedic kept asking. “You’re gonna be fine. Just hang in there.”

  The unconscious man didn’t respond.

  I was grateful no one asked me for his name because I would’ve had to admit I had no idea what it was.

  As we careened toward the emergency room, I belatedly remembered my purse, still lying back at the café. I could only hope some honest person would turn it in. When I got to the hospital I would call Carlita and ask her to run down and grab it on her lunch break.

  Then I had no more time to worry about anything but the here and now. We had pulled into the entrance of the ER and the ambulance’s back doors were being thrown open.

  Chapter 3

  The paramedics quickly wheeled their patient in through the wide doors, and I hurried after them. On entering, other medical personnel swarmed us. I hung back, following at a distance. We passed a check-in desk and turned down a long hall. At the end of this corridor the stretcher was shoved through a pair of double-doors.

  “Sorry, ma’am. You can’t come through here,” a nurse told me.

  I hesitated, watching the heavy doors swing shut behind the staff. Through a high window I could see the stretcher being swiftly wheeled out of sight.

  I was left behind, wondering what to do. Why had I even come here?

  “Are you a friend or a family member of the patient?” another member of the hospital staff was asking me. “We’ll need you to fill out some forms.”

  I stared stupidly at her. Time to confess. “Um, I don’t actually know the patient. I witnessed the accident, and I guess I was just hoping I could hang around and make sure everything turns out all right.”

  Yeah. That didn’t sound weird or anything.

  The nurse gave a sympathetic smile. “No problem, honey. You can have a seat in the waiting room.”

  I accepted the suggestion gratefully and left the cold, white corridors for the ER waiting room. It was a depressing place with rows of uncomfortable plastic chairs lined up along the walls and a noisy television blasting in the background. I took a seat between a harried looking couple with a screaming infant and an old man with a long, bloodied bandage across his forehead.

  Over the next two hours, I used the waiting room phone to make my call to Carlita, used the coins I found in the pockets of my slacks, or rather in the pockets of Carlita’s slacks, to raid the snack machine, and went to the bathroom twice. Anything to get out of my seat for a while.

  The crying of the couple’s sick infant was wearing on my nerves. The old man with the bandage smelled strongly of sweat and urine and he kept leaning over to share with me the charming story of how he’d cut his forehead by slipping and smacking it on the edge of a toilet.

  I nodded politely and tried to bury my face in a magazine. It was just a health journal, but what the heck. Anything to buy myself a little solitude.

  I was devouring a fascinating article about enlarged prostates when Carlita arrived. I was relieved to see my friend toting my lost purse with her.

  “You found it!” I cried, forgetting for a moment where I was. Then remembering to lower my voice I added, “Everything was so crazy I totally forgot about it until it was too late to go back. Thanks so much.”

  “No problem. I had nothing better to do on my lunch break anyway. I sure wouldn’t want to spend it, you know, eating or anything.”

  “I’ve got half a bag of chips from the snack machine,” I offered.

  “Forget it. How bad is your friend hurt?”

  I felt a bit stupid as I offered the explanation I hadn’t had time to give over the phone. I’d been afraid Carlita would think I was nuts, running to the hospital like this over a total stranger. But she just looked at me like I’d done the greatest thing she’d ever heard of.

  “You’re a good person, Meggs,” she said. “Not too many people would do this for someone they never even met before.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know if I’m actually doing it for him. I think it’s more for me. I got this funny feeling when I first looked at him, like I knew him from someplace, but I don’t know where. I guess when I came here I was just kind of hoping to figure that out.”

  Then too there had been that look in his eyes when he’d gazed up at me.

  Shut up, Megan, you’ve read too many of Carlita’s cheesy novels.

  My friend looked at her watch. “Uh oh, I’ve got go. I’m already over my break time, and I’m gonna have to fight traffic if I want to make it back to work before the boss notices.” We exchanged quick hugs and then she was gone.

  I was alone again. Well, alone except for the company toilet-head. At least the couple with the noisy baby had finally left. I sank back into my hard plastic chair and took up the health journal again. Then I put it down and reached for my purse.

  Had Carlita found…Yes, Noble Hearts was tucked safe away inside the bag.

  I dug the novel out and lost myself in the world of the fascinating hero and his heroine. I was really beginning to see what the heroine—and Carlita—saw in the man. He had a certain sort of nineteenth century charm, a chivalrous suavity you didn’t see anywhere today but in the movies.

  I was just wrapping up the part where the heroine was nursing the hero back to health after a life-threatening illness when I realized someone was speaking to me.

  “Ma’am,” one of the hospital staff called from the doorway. It took me a moment to remember her as the same nurse I had spoken with earlier.

  “Yes?” I stuffed the book inside my bag and rose.

  “I thought you’d like to know the patient you came in with is going to be just fine. He’s got a lot of bruising, especially in the shoulder area, but there’s no permanent damage. His recovery time should be short.”

  “Oh,” I said, suddenly at a loss. “Thanks. Can I—I mean would it be possible—”

  The nurse nodded. “He’s been asking for you. That is, if you’re the beautiful woman who saved his life. I’m afraid visitors aren’t permitted just yet. But if you’d like to come back tomorrow during visiting hours you should be able to see him then.”

  I thanked her but couldn’t help feeling this was all kind of strange. First I was riding to the hospital with the man and now I was coming back to see him tomorrow. But I had to come. He’d asked for me. Besides, I still wanted to know if and where I had met him before. Then, too, what he had called me didn’t hurt much either, I admitted to myself, almost smiling. Beautiful woman. I could count the number of times I’d been called that without any fingers at all. As I called a cab and left the hospital I felt a little like the heroine of my book. Not only was I beautiful but I had just, according to him, saved the man’s life.

  My day was certainly looking up.

  Chapter 4

  When I arrived back at the apartment it was still only late afternoon. Feeling younger and more energized than I had in a long time, I bounded up the front steps two at a time and slipped through the narrow double-doors leading into the foyer.

  Inside, the elevator was down again. Just as well. It always reeked of B.O. I took the back stairs up to the apartment I shared with Carlita. It was a good climb, five floors to the top level, and I was out of breath by the time I got there. Digging around in my purse, I found my keys and unlocked the front door.

  I didn’t go in right away, though. Instead, I stood back and surveyed the wreckage inside. It had only taken Carlita one morning to undo all the cleaning I had done the day before. Clothes were flung over the furniture and floor. Magazines and tubes of cosmetics were scattered across the low counter that was the only thing separating the kitchen from the living room. A half-eaten bowl of soggy cereal rested on the battered coffee table. One lamp had been left on and the TV was playing on mute, although there was no one home to watch it.

  Good grief, my roommate was a slob.

  I heaved a sigh and stepped inside, using one hip to nudge the door shut behind me. I hung my purse on a coat-hook and kicked off my shoes beside the door. It was going to be a long afternoon.

  After changing out of my good clothes and into a pink fitted T-shirt and jeans, I set to work tidying up the apartment. I’d never considered myself a neatnik before moving in with Carlita, but I didn’t like to wallow in a pigpen either. Even I needed a little organization.

  I moved my friend’s scattered clothing to her room, turned off the TV, and washed the dishes in the sink. Then, after returning Carlita’s makeup to the bathroom where it belonged, I started a load of laundry.

  Once the initial tidying was over and I’d told myself I had made at least a dent in the mess, I went to my room. Sitting on the foot of my bed I found my mind wandering, for no particular reason, to the strange man I’d rescued on the street today.

  How was he doing in the hospital? Would he even remember me tomorrow?

  Then I asked myself if I should really visit him at all. But he had asked for me. Which was a little weird, really, since it wasn’t like we knew each other or anything…Did we?

  I shook my head. I’d stop by for just a few minutes tomorrow on my way out to pick up some more job applications. We’d have a brief, polite visit, which I suspected would be awkward. Then I’d make some hasty excuse and leave, having done my charitable du
ty. I’d never see him again.

  The thought suddenly reminded me I still carried his pocket watch. After finding my discarded slacks and digging the watch out, I turned it over in my palm, examining it. It looked just like one of those shiny watches that wealthy gentlemen wore dangling from their vests in the olden days. I flipped it open and studied the simple inscription engraved inside: D.C. His initials maybe?

  Whatever the letters stood for, the watch looked expensive. I’d be sure and return it tomorrow, I told myself, going to the living room and dropping it into my purse.

  Back in my room my attention fell on the stack of blank canvases leaning against the wall beside my dresser. I went to my beat-up little desk—it was a child’s school-desk really—and dug out my set of paints. But I only looked at the multicolored bottles in their tray before putting them back again. I hadn’t touched a paintbrush in months. Once it had been easy to dream big but these days it was hard to stay enthusiastic about old aspirations. My plans to make a living off my paintings seemed far away now.

  Shattered hopes and half-realized dreams.

  Where had I heard that? Oh, right. Carlita’s silly romance novel.

  My hands wandered back into the desk again and came up this time with a sketchpad. If I didn’t have the urge to paint anymore maybe I could ease myself past this painter’s funk—the equivalent of an artistic writer’s block—by playing around with some sketches. At least it would keep me in practice. I dug out my pencils and prepared to work.

  Next door, Ms. Mouth, as Carlita and I had dubbed our neighbor, was having another screaming match with her boyfriend. Their raised voices leaked easily through the thin walls separating the two apartments. The deaf could’ve heard them. I pounded on the wall, knowing it was a useless gesture. When the yelling continued I hopped off my bed and turned on the radio to drown out their fight. Then I settled down, back against the wall, to sketch.

  The blank sheet of paper stared up at me. I hadn’t had the artistic urge in so long I hardly knew where to start anymore. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. Out of nowhere an image rose before my mind—startling green eyes, unreal in their intensity, looking up at me from under waves of wheat colored hair. I put pencil to paper and began to draw.

  I couldn’t make a very clear sketch of the handsome stranger I’d met today. Everything below his throat had been covered in a full-length dark coat, and I had seen his face only at weird angles. Besides, it had been a stressful occasion, and I hadn’t devoted too much time to studying his features. His eyes, though—I remembered those just fine, and that was enough to get me started.

  I worked steadily, unaware of the passing time. I kept erasing, re-sketching, and erasing again, determined to get those eyes down right on paper but always unsatisfied with the results.

  By the time Carlita returned from work she found me surrounded by a sea of crumpled, discarded drawings.

  “What’s this?” she asked, dropping her purse onto my bed. She picked up a sheet of paper from the floor and smoothed it out.

  “Who’s the hunk?”

  “Nobody.” I didn’t look up from my current effort.

  She stepped over to turn off the radio, and then studied the pictures strewn across my bed.

  “Interesting. You must have done a dozen sketches here, all of the same nobody.”

  “Huh?”

  Not until I looked up did I realize she was right. I had done a million sketches of the guy’s eyes, all alike and yet each different. I suddenly realized my hand was cramping from so many hours spent clutching a pencil. I felt exhausted. More than that, I was frustrated.

  “Oh, this is useless!” I threw my pencil at the wall. “I can’t paint. I can’t draw. I never could! I’ve spent hours on these and not one of them captures him even remotely.”

  “You mean the nobody who doesn’t exist?”

  “He exists, I guess,” I admitted. “He’s the guy I sat with at the hospital today.”

  My friend glanced at the most complete sketch. “Now I see why you spent all afternoon down there. Looks like a hottie.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pulled off her high heels.

  I shrugged. “He’s pretty cute I guess. But nobody is at their best while bleeding all over the pavement.”

  I ran a hand through my hair. “How was work?”

  “Sucked. Every Monday sucks for me. But I don’t want to think about it. I’m gonna heat up a frozen dinner. Want one?”

  “Why not.” I cast a last lingering glance at my sketches and then followed her to the kitchen.

  “Hey, did you read any of that book I gave you?” Carlita asked. “You know, Noble Hearts? ”

  “Uh-huh. I read a little at the hospital.”

  I watched Frigga patter into the kitchen to twine herself around my roommate’s ankles, all the while giving me the evil eye. Like I needed any warning to keep my distance.

  Carlita absently rubbed the cat’s back with one bare foot while opening the freezer and nearly causing an avalanche of frozen dinners. Neither of us were exactly the world’s greatest cooks.

  “Isn’t the hero amazing?” she asked, ducking her head into the freezer. “He’s so dreamy. You want mini pizzas or enchilada dinners?”

  “Enchiladas. And he’s pretty cool, I guess. So far he hasn’t done much but get rescued by the heroine.”

  “It gets better,” Carlita promised. “You’ve got to read the next chapter.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe I’ll get to it tonight.”

  Chapter 5

  My eyes were red-rimmed and puffy the next day because I’d stayed up until all hours reading Noble Hearts. I was really getting into the novel now and I’d decided Carlita was right. The hero did make the book.

  But that morning I was paying dearly for my late night read. No matter how thickly I applied my concealer, the dark circles still loomed visibly under my eyes. Finally I gave up and slapped the concealer stick back into my makeup box. Never mind. Who was I trying to impress anyway? I thought of the stranger I would be visiting this morning. He can take me or leave me as I am.

  Despite the brave words, I peered into the mirror for a final check of my short white skirt and blue blouse, cinched with a broad black belt. I’d added a white headband to set off the skirt and my favorite black pumps. The ones that looked like Christian Louboutins but had only cost half as much. A pair of hooped earrings was the finishing touch and then I was grabbing a bagel and slipping out the door.

  The elevator was working today—a questionable stroke of luck—and as I stepped into its creepy, dimly lit interior I prayed as I often did this wouldn’t be the day I made the headlines. Woman found chopped up in apartment house elevator. It really did look like the ideal spot for a horror scene in a movie.

  On the ride down, I peeped inside my purse. The gold pocket watch was still there, nestled between a coin-purse and an eye shadow kit. I had to give it back today. If that was real gold—and it sure looked like it—this was a pretty valuable antique.

  Leaving the apartment building, I caught a cab to the other side of town. In the back seat, I finished the last of my bagel and checked my supershine lipstick in my compact mirror. I always spent a generous amount of time applying my makeup. As an Avon representative, I liked to think it was my duty to give potential customers a living sample of what we had to offer. But this morning I’d spent even more time than usual in front of the makeup mirror. Just for fun, of course.

  It was a nice autumn day and I rolled down my window to let in the breeze. Skyscrapers towered over me, blotting out the sun. Watching the pedestrians hurrying by on the streets I was reminded of what had made me fall in love with this city. It had an energy—an excitement about it. Then too it had seemed like a place where even the most unreachable of dreams, like an artist’s career, could come true.

  The fact Baltimore had recently been rated the third best place in the nation to shop had nothing to do with it of course. Nope, nothing at all.

  We were pulling up outside the hospital. After I paid the cab driver, I passed through the entrance and was immediately engulfed in the antiseptic scent I remembered from yesterday. I’d come in at a different entrance from the one I used then. Right in front of me stood a check-in desk.